


don’t get too close, it’s dark inside

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Demon Sex, M/M, Other, Porn With a Vague Semblance of Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Whitestone wasn't the first time that Orthax physically manifested?</p><p>Please read the tags and consider your kinks and squicks before reading. Thank you. (I wasn't sure if Orthax qualified as male or not, so have tagged this both M/M and Other.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	don’t get too close, it’s dark inside

**Author's Note:**

> _Critical Role_ characters do not belong to me and I am making no money off this work of fan fiction. I was moved to finally post this (it's backdated to when I wrote it) when I saw Susanah Grace's [Valentine's Day art](http://susanahgrace.com/post/139126498003/you-possess-my-heart-happy-valentines-day).
> 
> Title from Imagine Dragons' 'Demons'.
> 
> * * *

Percy’s darker dreams involve desires fulfilled that he can’t speak of even to himself in the morning, though he wakes up to the physical evidence.

Sometimes he feels an odd equilibrium, as if something has balanced out inside him.

Sometimes he just feels used, exhausted—and the fact that this doesn’t disturb him is in itself disturbing.

It happens infrequently at the beginning, but more and more often as Percy’s bonds with Vox Machina strengthen—and if anyone shows affection beyond friendship, no matter how slight, he has a long, restless night and wakes up wrecked in the morning. Wrecked... but also satiated.

While it’s hard to perceive the exact physical form of the creature that comes to him in his dreams, Percy gets a sense of darkness and weight and solidity that both surrounds and fills him. On the longest nights he feels twisted with pleasure and pain alike, a strange sense of exhilaration that leaves him breathless and aching.

He remembers vague tales from when he was small. His mother soothing him when he had a nightmare, telling it was nothing, singing him back to sleep. But darker tales, too... tales of nighthags, of darkness-dwelling demons, bringing terror to people in the night.

This does not feel like terror. It feels dangerous yet compelling, and the more often Percy experiences it, the more often he craves it.

The pinnacle comes when Percy’s been working long into the night making bullets, preparing to clash with the Briarwoods. He’s tired to the bone, barely finding time to clean the black powder from his hands before falling into a fitful sleep curled up on the makeshift bed that he keeps in his workshop.

His eyes open in the small hours of the morning. At least, he thinks they do. The familiar feeling of the darkness filling and enveloping him is there, and then it’s not.

Instead of inside him, it’s hovering  _ over _ him. And it is so much more solid and real than he is used to.

Percy blinks very slowly to make sure he’s not imagining things. His spectacles are up on his workbench, and with the very low light available in the workshop he can only make out the shadow of a shadow in the darkness above him.

“Who—” he manages, voice strangled, before a deep chuckle cuts him off.

“I see your dreams, Percival. I know your soul.” The entity presses down on him, covers him chest to toe. “The harder you work, the closer we become.”

The voice is familiar. He’s heard it in his dreams—in his darker waking moments, too. Percy draws in a deep breath. He’s very aware of his state of disarray and moreover his state of arousal. It seems that this being, whatever it is, has been coaxing him night after night, and now it’s done with coaxing and here for something more than his restless sleeping spurts of climax.

“Are you afraid, little gunslinger?” the voice whispers in the dark. A nigh-spectral finger caresses his cheek, trailing down to his throat, then along one clavicle. He can feel his legs being pushed apart as the being shoves at them, its form gaining more and more solidity. 

Percy stares up into the darkness. “Yes,” he says softly. “But not as afraid as I think you’d like me to be.”

The creature snarls, and Percy feels its form come down on him in full force, hands clamping down on his arms, weight bearing down on him, pushing the breath out of him.

“You  _ will _ fear me,” it promises, voice chilling.

“Will I?” Percy still isn’t entirely sure he isn’t dreaming. He feels dizzy, short of breath, but strong.

The entity raises up and rakes one hand down his front, shredding the lacings of his tunic, tearing through the fine fabric of his breeches, leaving him bare save for the tattered remnants of his clothes spread out either side of him.

“You will.”

Whatever else this entity thinks it can make him feel, it knows how to arouse him. It’s been in his head for so long; it knows what winds him up, what sets him off. He awoke half-hard, and his erection hasn’t subsided in the slightest. It’s raking nails over hypersensitised skin; Percy feels scratching, feels biting, and cries out with, yes, a little fear. He hears that laugh again in the darkness, and for the first time pushes against it. His hands come up, not to push, but to map out the shape of the being above him, to ascertain—or try to—what it is that he’s dealing with. He can only just see his hands as pale stars against the creature’s obsidian night skin. It feels both like grasping at smoke and like pushing against solid muscle at the same time.

If it’s seen his soul, it knows that he’s not feigning either his fear or his arousal. The two have been entwined long enough to have merged somewhat in his mind.

“You show courage, gunslinger,” the creature says in a low whisper that resounds inside Percy’s head. “Will it be enough?”

Percy inhales shakily. “You tell me...  _ demon _ .”

(He will not remember this in the morning, will not remember the truth of his words. He will only remember the darkness enveloping him.)

A pleased chuckle comes out of the darkness, rumbling through Percy’s hands where they rest against the being’s chest. “Such spirit... it will serve you well.” And his legs are shoved further apart, pressed up toward his chest, as the entity settles between them.

Percy can feel what it has for him—what it will take him with—and shivers with anticipation. He cannot stop this—he will not stop this. He must not show fear. He must stay strong.

“We have shared your soul so long. Let us now share your body.”

Percy feels immediately stretched open as the entity slams into him, and lets out an involuntary cry of pain. The laugh he hears from above him steels his resolve, though, and instead of recoiling or struggling he spreads his thighs wider, digging his fingertips into the demon’s sides.

“You said you know my dreams and my soul,” he pants.

“ _ Yessss _ .”

“Then how could you think that you’d truly scare me?” Percy jerks his hips up and hears a surprised noise out of the shadows. “How could you think that, after how often you’ve pushed me over the edge in dreams?” He pushes up against the being again, meeting its downward stroke and letting it in, taking it in. “You know I can take this... that I want this.”

“Oh, little gunslinger.” The voice is a dark caress. “You are an admirable fighter.” And it slams into him again, not giving him time to react before withdrawing and pounding into him relentlessly, and all Percy can do is dig his nails in and take it.

It hurts. It hurts and at the same time is doing absolutely nothing to turn him off. His body is on fire, burning, instinctively taking the entity into him even as it tries to break him. He moves his hands, still trying to understand its form, and his wrists are seized and pinned to the ground.

“Give in,” the demon whispers.

Percy smiles fiercely up at it and crosses his ankles behind its back, arching up. “You first.”

The being snarls and Percy feels its teeth in his shoulder. He tries to return the bite but feels only smoke between his teeth.

They strive together for a long while—Percy has no sense of time. He can feel the coiling clockspring of tension in his cock and balls as he’s pushed closer and closer to coming. The entity’s battering into him with no sense of finesse, but nonetheless he’s definitely reaching that peak. His breathing turns erratic and his vision starts to go dark.

“Do you not fear giving in to me? Letting me claim your body as well as your soul?”

Percy squeezes his thighs together, trapping the entity for a moment. “What makes you think you’re claiming my body? Maybe I’m claiming yours.”

The creature growls long and low and it reverberates through Percy’s body. Keeping his wrists pinned with one ethereal hand, it rakes at his chest with the other, scraping over his skin. It’s still relentlessly pounding into him, rocking his entire body with each brutal slam. It claws at him again and Percy struggles against the touch, straining upward, seeking more of this blackly addictive sensation.

“I could stop now,” the demon says with malicious humor.

“ _ No _ !” Percy cries out, and in that moment he understands that he has lost this battle of wills after all. He sees the wicked glint of teeth in the shadows and feels the inexorable, unstoppable wave of pleasure as his orgasm comes crashing over him, shattering through him like an exploded crucible, his come shooting liquid-metal-hot to stripe over his stomach.

By letting it take him, he has bound it tighter to him.

The entity shudders with its own climax, letting out a roar of release, and Percy feels it immediately fade back inside him, leaving his body empty save for the feeling of being stretched—nearly torn—open. He’s going to be sore for days, every movement a reminder of what has been done to him, what he has invited into himself.

As he lies on his pallet, torn clothes scattered, panting hard, utterly spent, he hears one last dark chuckle in the back of his head.


End file.
